What's in a Name
by A for Anarchy
Summary: Post sixth season...kinda. Jane has a little problem: Lisbon won't call him by his name.


**Disclaimer**: _The Mentalist_ does not belong to, but the sometimes-magnanimous Bruno Heller. I make no profit from this little piece of angst and smut.

**Author's Note**: ….I really don't have an explanation for this beyond the fact that I do think that Lisbon might have a little block against calling Jane by his first name.

* * *

"Jaaane!"

He can tell by her growled inflection that she is warning him that she is close to the edge, and if he were to stop now, his death would be certain and swift. Her fingers alternate between tugging on his locks and directing his head to her clit. He obliges her unspoken commands and laps at her just a little harder.

She shudders, gripping his head to her tight. When she finally collapses, her hands slide from his hair. He moves up and over her body, dropping light kisses as he goes, "It's 'Patrick,' Teresa. I just licked you to an orgasm. You should be calling me 'Patrick.'"

She nods, but he can tell that his words didn't penetrate the fog filling her sated mind. Oh well, he would just remind her some other time.

* * *

"Jane!"

He feels her gasp his name into his shoulder as he corrects the angle of his hips, aiming for her sweet spot. He can tell that he's made contact by the way her fingers tighten in his shoulders, trying to find purchase against the sensations.

He loves it when she's like this: close to losing control. A few more minutes and she'll be raking those claws of hers down his back, triggering his own ecstasy.

But even though his body is in the grips of unimaginable pleasure, his mind is hard at work, trying to figure out what could make this moment that much sweeter. "Please, Teresa, say my name, please!"

Instead of complying, she turns her head to his neck, biting down on his strained flesh. He groans, losing his train of thought, as well as his rhythm, and his thrusts take on a completely new edge.

Now her fingers are in his hair, and she's dragging his mouth down to hers, silencing both of them.

* * *

"Thanks, Jane," she says as she's swiping the proffered coffee out of his hand.

He catches her before she can whirl away, reeling her into his body. He drops a kiss on her cheek and nuzzles his way over to her ear. "You know, Teresa, you really should consider calling me Patrick. You're going to give me complex if you can't even get my name right."

She grimaces and pulls away, "But you're Jane, Jane, and that's who you've always been to me."

He sighs, deciding to let the budding argument go. "We'll work on it."

She nods distractedly and continues on her way out the door.

* * *

"Jane, come take a look at this."

He knows that out in the field they have to maintain a kind of professional standard, but he's been dying to hear her call him 'Patrick' at a crime scene for years. If asked why, he probably wouldn't be able to explain it, but he thinks that the horror of the situation might be lessened if she deigned to indulge in a little intimacy.

It's inappropriate, but he's knows he has to try.

He sidles up next to her, which causes her to jump a little in shock. She'd been expecting him to go right for the body.

"Tereeessa," he purrs her name into her ear, "You know, you really should consider calling me by my first name. I think that, next to church bells, it might be the most heavenly sound on earth."

He's teasing her, which he knows she hates when they're working, but he still wasn't expecting the smack upside his head, or the slightly wounded look on her face. "Damn it, Jane, couldn't try to be professional at least once in your life?"

He rubbed his head, watching her stalk away with a tightly clenched fury in her gait. He can't resist calling after her, "You will think about it, won't you, dear? I'd really like to hear you say it!"

He gets an enormous amount of satisfaction from the glare she sends his way.

Humming happily under his breath, he turns back to the corpse de jour. "I'm wearing her down, she'll give in any day now," he whispers to unhearing ears. "I've got this one in the bag!"

They've been together for a few months now, and yet he has never heard her say his name. In fact, he can only recall her using it but one time in their twelve years together. And that time didn't really count; they were putting on a show. He wants her to say his name, free of all coercion. He wants her to purr it into his ear, to shout it at the top of her lungs, to whisper it into his chest.

But every time he mentions his preference, she shies away. Sometimes she'll glare at him, other times she'll look guilty. What possible reason could she have for not wanting to call him Patrick? He hopes that the asking of the question will not result in a thermonuclear meltdown.

* * *

"Jane―"

He cuts her off before she can continue, "You never call me Patrick. Not at work (which I understand), not I home (which I don't), and not even in bed (which baffles me). Why, Teresa, I need to know? I know I still call you Lisbon, but I normally only do that at work….It's just, I can't help but feel that you're trying to run away from me. That you don't really want to commit to a relationship with, so you're distancing yourself. And I don't know why."

She looks brokenhearted at his statement, and he almost regrets making her feel sad, but at this moment, the rest of their time together depends entirely on her next words.

She opens her mouth, but then stops herself before words can come out. He can see that she's gathering her thoughts together, and even though he appreciates the fact that she has put some thought into this dilemma, he wishes that she would put him out of his misery and answer already.

"You―you don't belong to me as Patrick." He knows that he must look confused, a maybe a tiny bit alarmed, because he sees her jaw set stubbornly, ready to press ahead. "All the years that we've known each other, other people have called you Patrick. Minelli, Hightower, Agent Darcy, Erica Flynn, and fucking Lorelei Martins, but never me. Patrick belonged to all of those people, but never to me. But Jane sure as hell did. Jane was at my side, Jane had my back, and it was Jane who hugged me and told me he loved me. Patrick didn't do any of that with me, but he did it with other people."

He was stunned. She could have knocked him over with a feather right then and there. He could never have guessed that she would associate his very name with such negative thoughts. What he could tell, though, is that she's had these feelings for a while, judging by the speed at which they tumbled out of her mouth.

He can see that she is becoming apprehensive waiting for his response. He can almost feel her muscles tightening up, ready to spring away and lick her wounds in private.

"I'm not going to lie to you, Teresa. It hurts that you would think I didn't belong to you when the truth is I've been yours since you took me in and gave me a place on your team. I've always been your Jane, but I've also always been your Patrick. I let those people use my name because it generated a false sense of closeness, companionship. People open up to you that much more if you're willing to get a little personal with them, but I never expected it to affect you like this…Lisbon, I'm sorry.

"I can't undo what's already been done, but won't you consider the fact that I'm yours? Heart, soul, and body, I belong to you and you alone. I just want to hear my name from your lips, just yours and no one else. But, if you can't do that right now, I'll wait. I'll wait forever if I have to because I love the way you say Jane."

At this point, tears are rolling down her face, and he can feel that his own face had become rather wet. He gathered her to him, whispering calming words into her ears. "It's okay, Teresa, I'll stay no matter what. I don't care, I don't care, I'm _your_ Jane, I'm yours."

She sobbed into his chest, nodding her head at his words, "I know that Jane. I know that you're mine, and I'm yours, but I think I needed to hear you say it."

He smiled into her hair, and kissed her head, "Anytime you need me to remind you, just ask. However, you'll have to call me Patrick when you do."

She slapped his chest lightly before drawing back a little, "Tell me that you belong to me…Patrick."

He didn't bother replying, he just drew her mouth to his and kissed her as deeply as he could, silently thanking her for a sound more heavenly than church bells.


End file.
